


Fishtacos

by soy_em



Series: 12 days of Wincestmas 2016 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Dean has never had a problem keeping focused during a hunt. Not when he had hell hanging over him, not when something was wrong with Sam’s soul, never. Not until today.It’s the damn yoga pants.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [random_firework](https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_firework/gifts).



Dean has been a hunter all his life. He’s hunted far scarier things than this, things much weirder, but also tons of easy, milk-run cases. He’s never had a problem keeping focused during a hunt. Not when he had hell hanging over him, not when something was wrong with Sam’s soul, never. Not until today. 

It’s the damn yoga pants. 

Sam just looks so unbelievably good in them. And it’s not like they don’t have a healthy sex life; he’s seen Sam in a variety of outfits, some of which worked (in Dean’s opinion, Sam should wear little panties every day) and some which had only provoked fits of laughter (Sam had not made an attractive Princess Leia). But usually, when they’re on hunts, Sam is covered up in their layers of plaid and his spectacular body is hidden from view (from everyone else, too, helping the possessive monster inside Dean to stay calm). But not today.

Those damn yoga pants. And the little t-shirt that goes with them. 

They emphasise Sam’s long, slender legs, they show off the muscles of his toned thighs. They hang off his slim, grabbable hips and every time Dean looks, he can barely restrain himself from touching. 

And the little top… well, it frames Sam’s strong arms perfectly. It conforms to the planes of his chest without being obscene. Sam is so tall that it just about covers his stomach, and when he moves, Dean catches a glimpse of happy trail and hipbones that still have bite marks on them from last week. And he swears he can see Sam’s nipples through the shirt.

And it’s not just the outfit. It’s the thoughts it provokes. Dean is used to women who do yoga bending and contorting themselves into all kinds of exciting positions and everytime he sees Sam, his mind is filled with thoughts of his brother with his feet near his ears, with his legs spread oh so wide. 

In short, Dean is distracted.

*** 

It takes getting roofied for Dean to get his head back in the game. It’s a nasty shock that brings back a slew of unpleasant memories, only made bearable by the realisation that Sam not recognising the pills means that his brother has never been drugged like that. 

It’s the kick up the ass he needs to focus, and so it’s not until they’ve dealt with the Fishtaco (Pishtaco, what the fuck ever) that Dean has time to think about the delicious yoga outfit again. 

They’ve just said goodbye to Sheriff Hanscum and they’re heading out of the ranch. “Oh, Sammy,” he says, as casual as he can possibly be. “Bring that tracksuit, won’t you?”

Sam looks confused for a moment, before a sly grin slides over his face. “Sure. I can see how that might come in handy the future.”

***

By the time they find a motel, Dean is hungry (and not in the way that means he wants to take advantage of the yoga pants). His shower could more accurately be described as a sluicing down under the spray, before he’s headed back out to find food. 

Dean is happily sniffing at his burger (it smells divine) as he walks back into their motel room, when he catches sight of Sam. 

Sam is bent fully over, hands loosely wrapped around his ankles. The yoga outfit is back on, and the position makes the strong muscles of Sam’s long legs stand out in sharp relief. 

Dean actually drops the burgers on the floor. 

As he watches, Sam gracefully slides to his knees, arching his back up and down like a cat before moving backwards so that his ass is over his ankles. He stretches his arms out in front of him, pressing his chest to the floor, and his ass pops up, pointing straight at Dean in a way that makes him almost drop the soda can he’s carrying as well.

“Sammy,” he says, voice strangled. 

“Oh Dean, I had no idea you were there,” Sam replies, faux innocence lacing his voice. He wiggles ever so slightly. 

Dean just about has the presence of mind to put the soda can down (the burgers are a lost cause) before he’s pulling his shirts off. He drops to his knees with a thump, right behind Sam, and shoves Sam’s legs wider apart before starting to work on his own belt and fly. 

Sam snorts. “That’s not exactly a standard yoga position, Dean. I think you’re going to need to work on your technique.”

Dean finally gets his pants shoved down his legs, and he lands a sharp slap on his brother’s upturned ass. Sam yelps. “My technique is just fucking fine. Spread.” He pushes Sam’s knees even further apart, so that Sam is struggling to hold himself up, and then pulls the oh so tight little shorts down his brother’s thighs. They won’t go very far, but Dean doesn’t mind - he doesn’t want Sam to be able to move much, after all. 

There’s the slightest hint of a red handprint on his brothers’ left cheek, and Dean quickly matches it on the other side. Sam is breathing fast now, head hanging low, and Dean wishes that he had the patience to give Sammy a proper spanking, but that’s so not going to happen right now. He strokes his finger down Sam’s crack, wondering how he is going to bring himself to break away to find the lube, when - “Oh you sneaky little bitch.” 

Sam chuckles, low and slightly smug. 

“I can’t believe you got yourself ready for me.”

“You looked like you were about ready to bend me over the counter in the canteen earlier. I didn’t rate my chances of prep very highly.”

Dean can’t argue with that. “Is that what you were thinking about when you were fingering yourself? Me bending you over in front of all those people, fucking you hard and not caring who saw?”

Just like that, the power swings in Dean’s favour. His Sammy is such a little exhibitionist, and they so rarely get to indulge. 

“Maybe having the good Sheriff watch, Sammy? Bet she’d love it.” he slips a finger into Sam, quickly followed by a second when he realises that Sam has thoroughly prepped himself.

Sam gurgles, not able to form proper words, and Dean takes advantage to line himself up and slide inside his brother. He’s not rough, but he’s not particularly gentle either, not stopping until his balls rest against Sam’s delectable ass. Sam yells, loud enough that they might be in trouble with the motel management.

“That’s what you get for teasing,” Dean says, voice rough. He pauses only for a second before setting a quick pace. Sam is spread wide and off balance, forced to take what Dean gives him, and it makes Dean a little wild. He keeps his hands firm on his brother’s hips, and Sam goes almost boneless as Dean rocks into him. Sam is letting out breathy little gasps, head dropped almost to the ground and sweat falling from the tip of his nose.

“Next time, I’ll just do it,” Dean says. “Push you flat and let everyone watch.”

Dean can see Sam’s cock, so hard underneath him that Sam’s dripping onto the already-dubious motel carpet. Sam’s close, he can tell, no doubt from teasing himself earlier, and Dean wants to see if he can make his brother come without touching his cock. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“I bet everyone would just stop and stare, Sammy. They’d all be so turned on, desperate to touch you, to fuck you next.” Suddenly Dean is a victim of his own ploy, as jealousy rages through him at the thought of anyone else touching Sam. 

“But they wouldn’t be allowed. No one else is allowed to touch you, Sammy. Just me. My little brother.”

Sam lets out a high pitched whine at that, and clenches down tight. He comes, shooting white across carpet, and Dean swears as the pressure is suddenly too much for him. He presses his forehead against Sam’s neck as he comes, murmuring, “Mine, mine, mine.” His mind blanks for a blissful second, tremors racing up his spine.

Sam’s stretched wide legs give out suddenly, and they pitch forward. The yoga shirt lands in the puddle of come, and Dean’s brain is just functional enough to be really pleased that it’s marked like that now. 

“Jesus, Dean. Didn’t realise you liked the outfit quite this much.” Sam sounds drowsy, and Dean knows Sam, knows he’ll be asleep in seconds if they don’t move now. He pulls out of Sammy as slow as he can and stands on wobbly legs to get a cloth to clean up.

As he walks to the bathroom, he spares a moment to look at the burgers, abandoned on the floor. His stomach growls with hunger again but he’s too wiped to do anything about it, and he figures they’ll still be edible after a couple of hours naptime. 

It takes what little energy he has left to get Sam onto the bed, and his brother promptly curls into his arms. As he holds Sam close, drifting into sleep, Dean can barely even remember what a Fishtaco is.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](http://www.soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
